I have written over a hundred short erotic stories over the years, but I think one of the most unusual has to be The Mattress…
Here’s the blurb!
From the dramatic gritstone escarpments of Derbyshire’s Peak District, to a quiet caravan site in deepest Wales, Smut Alfresco has it all. Whatever your interpretation of frisky outdoor fun, there’s something nestling between the covers for you. Sexy woodsmen, daring couples, rock stars, cougars, map enthusiasts, mattresses, ex-lovers, tour guides, hunky sheriffs and nature reserve rangers all appear in this hot collection of stories from erotica’s finest authors.
One of the main challenges for erotica writers- especially now there are more of us than ever before, and the market is experiencing a glut of new publications- is to find a new angle from which to approach each and every project.
The idea for The Mattress came to me months before I’d actually worked out how to commit it to paper. I confess, although I was fairly sure the concept was a sound one, that I had several false starts before the story came out as I wanted it to. However I tried to begin with, I couldn’t stop the story sounding like a list of body parts bumping- never good!
Written from the perspective of an old mattress that has been unceremoniously dumped at the side of the road, The Mattress tells us about some of the humans that have had sexual adventures on its back, twanged its springs, and bounced against its bulk in the great outdoors… It seems that even mattresses can have a colourful past!
This is how it starts…
The way the two women sniggered as they spotted me lying on the ground, made me sure they hadn’t expected their walk to produce such a convenient opportunity to fuck.
From the scent of them, I’d say they’d been drinking cocktails. The mildly sickly scent of boozy peach and mango fruit clung to them, suggesting they’d partaken of enough alcohol to be without inhibition, but not enough to be without decision making abilities.
The minute they saw me, cast aside, damaged and unwanted amongst a pile of autumn leaves at the edge of a wood, they knew what they wanted to do, and their giggling became laced with purpose.
Somehow, during the periods of inaction between eventful episodes of accidental discovery by passersby, I’ve almost blended into the landscape, forming a hinterland of sexual promise between the woods to my right, and a farmer’s field to my left. However, like so many of my opportune visitors, these young ladies didn’t care that a number of my springs were poking out of my sides, or that nights and days of rainfall had given me the musty aroma of the trees that surround me.
You could see the need for sex burn in the women’s matching green eyes. I’d know that look anywhere. I used to see in the old days when I’d been working as half of a partnership. ‘Mattress and bed!’ What a team we’d formed when we’d resided together in a cheap hotel in town. Couple after couple would visit me and my divan support back then, in a “rent me by the hour” sort of a way. I miss that life. I miss making people happy. I miss fulfilling my purpose properly.
I think my latest visitors must have been together for a while. The way they regarded each other spoke volumes. I could read many nights of tender love etched across their faces; but the way their hands attacked each other’s clothes made me wonder if it was their very first time in the great outdoors.
I relished the weight of their bodies as they climbed aboard me, kicking off their shoes. I sighed beneath them as they dropped to their knees; emerald gaze locked into jade gaze; turquoise painted fingernails eager at oversized jumpers. Despite the November chill, in their keenness to reach the bare skin hidden beneath the necessary winter layers, they removed their tops, recklessly laying them on the leaf cracklingly frosty ground.
The taller of the girls had sleek long brunette hair, and as her bottle red headed companion murmured gently against her neck, I learnt her name was Yasmin.
Yasmin’s body radiated desire as her nameless girlfriend bought ruby lips to her right breast, making her squeal and chuckle, as her buttocks clenched within her denims upon my aged buckled surface…
If you’d like to know what other adventures my poor discarded mattress witnessed, and read some excellent tales by our host Bel Anderson, Tilly Hunter, Tenille Brown, Cass Peterson, Wendi Zwaduk, Jenny Lyn, Demelza Hart, Violet Fields, KT Red, Nicole Gestalt, Jacqueline Brocker, Victoria Blisse (ed), and Lucy Felthouse(ed), then you can buy Smut Alfresco at…
All Romance EBooks –
…and all other good retailers.